Jingo

looked at the assembled…well, multitude. There was no other word. Well, there were plenty, but none that it would be fair to use.
    Big ones, short ones, fat ones, troll ones with the lichen still on, bearded dwarf ones, the looming pottery presence of the golem Constable Dorfl, undead ones…and even now he wasn’t certain if that term should include Corporal Angua, an intelligent girl and a very useful wolf when she had to be. Waifs and strays, Colon had said once. Waifs and bloody strays, because normal people wouldn’t be coppers.
    Technically they were all in uniform, too, except that mostly they weren’t wearing the same uniform as anyone else. Everyone had just been sent down to the armory to collect whatever fitted, and the result was a walking historical exhibit: Funny-Shaped Helmets Through the Ages.
    “Er…ladies and gentlemen—” he began.
    “Be quiet, please, and listen to Commander Vimes!” bellowed Carrot.
    Vimes found himself meeting the gaze of Angua, who was leaning against the wall. She rolled her eyes helplessly.
    “Yes, yes , thank you, captain,” said Vimes. He turned back to the massed array of Ankh-Morpork’s finest. He opened his mouth. He stared. And then he shut his mouth, all but a corner of it. And said out of that corner: “What’s that little lump on Constable Flint’s head?”
    “That’s Probationary Constable Buggy Swires, sir. He likes to get a good view.”
    “He’s a gnome! ”
    “Well done, sir.”
    “Another one of yours?”
    “ Ours , sir,” said Carrot, using his reproachful voice again. “Yes, sir. Attached to the Chitterling Street Station since last week, sir.”
    “Oh my gods…” murmured Vimes.
    Buggy Swires saw his stare and saluted. He was five inches tall.
    Vimes regathered his mental balance. The long and the short and the tall…waifs and strays, all of us.
    “I’m not going to keep you long,” he said. “You all know me…well, most of you know me,” he added, with a sidelong glance at Carrot, “and I don’t make speeches. But I’m sure all of you have noticed the way this Leshp business has got people all stirred up. There’s a lot of loose talk about war. Well, war isn’t our business. War is soldiers’ business. Our business, I think, is to keep the peace. Let me show you this—”
    He stood back and pulled something out of his pocket with a flourish. At least, that was the intention. There was a rip as something ceased to be entangled in the lining.
    “Damn…ah…”
    He produced a length of shiny black wood from the ragged pocket. There was a large silver knob on the end. The watchmen craned to look.
    “This…er…this…” Vimes groped. “This old man turned up from the palace a couple of weeks ago. Gave me this damn thing. Got a label saying ‘ Regalia of the Watch Commandr., Citie of Ankh-Morporke .’ You know they never throw anything away up at the palace.”
    He waved it vaguely. The wood was surprisingly heavy.
    “It’s got the coat of arms on the knob, look.” Thirty watchmen tried to see.
    “And I thought…I thought, good grief, this is what I’m supposed to carry? And I thought about it, and then I thought, no, that’s right, just once someone got it right . It’s not even a weapon, it’s just a thing . It ain’t for using, it’s just for having. That’s what it’s all about. Same thing with uniforms. You see, a soldier’s uniform, it’s to turn him into part of a crowd of other parts all in the same uniform, but a copper’s uniform is there to—”
    Vimes stopped. Perplexed expressions in front of him told him that he was building a house of cards with too few cards on the bottom.
    He coughed.
    “ Anyway ,” he went on, with a glare to indicate that everyone should forget the previous twenty seconds, “our job is to stop people fighting. There’s a lot happening on the street. You’ve probably heard that they’re starting up the regiments again. Well, people can recruit if they like. But we’re not going to have any mobs. There’s a nasty mood around. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but we’ve got to be there when it does.” He looked around the room. “Another thing. This new Klatchian envoy or whatever he’s called is arriving tomorrow. I don’t think the Assassins’ Guild has anything planned but tonight we’re going to check the route the wizards’ procession will be taking. A nice little job for the night shift. And tonight we’re all on the night